


Some People

by ideal_girl (trainwreckdress)



Category: Stargate Atlantis RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-25
Updated: 2006-12-25
Packaged: 2019-06-05 13:20:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15171584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trainwreckdress/pseuds/ideal_girl
Summary: "David feels like he's being courted, but he's not entirely sure -- can't remember the last time someone chased him, the last time someone romanced him."





	Some People

**Author's Note:**

> Note from diana, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Pretty Lights](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Pretty_lights), which closed for financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Pretty Lights collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/prettylights/profile).
> 
> Prompt: SGA, David/Joe, romancing (sans angst). Meg, I tried really hard with the "sans angst" part -- it's the thought that counts, right? I hope you enjoy.

At first, it was fine. Funny and natural and a little bit dangerous, dancing around each other like a couple of teenagers. Obvious, too, by the looks passed between Rachel and Torri after too many rounds and not enough dancing, Joe and David leaning into each other, their sides pressed tight and knees knocking. Rachel would take Joe, swing him from David's orbit, get him caught up in a conversation about fishing or skiing or mountain climbing ("My cornea, man, frozen rock solid, like a Birds Eye pea or something.") with whoever had the most flannel on in the place. Torri would take David's hand, start reciting Mamet in the hopes he'd catch on and fling the lines right back at her. By the end of the night, David's pressed into Jane's waiting car, kisses blow and shouts of "you shouldn't let him out without a minder, darling!" echoing down the street. Joe finds his way home via friends of friends, cheap taxis that take the promise of free beer down the line as payment. 

It's unspoken, too, the general understanding -- don't let it go too far, too fast, too much. Joe presses his lips to Rachel's hair as she pushes him out of Paulie's car one night, and he tells her she's a good friend, even as his head connects with the door jamb. 

"You protect me," he says. "From what?" she asks, but Joe's already picking his way up the driveway, swallowed up in the bright light of the front porch. 

* 

"It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye," David's grandmother used to say, a woman born on the cusp of the 20th Century, trapped in between cultures and times. He thinks the phrase needs an update for his own 21st Century. "It's all fun and games until someone loses a wife," he had grumped to his sister, Soo long gone and Vincenzo soon to follow. The sting is still there, harsh and abrasive, and whenever he thinks he may be over it, something happens to bring it all back. No one told him that it would be that hard, playing husband and boyfriend, all under one roof. 

"I told you that open marriage stuff is crap." Kate snapped her gum and David remembers the crackle in the phone line, the pop of the connection as a nameless storm thunder along the horizon. 

"It works for some people," he countered, hung up when she replied, "Well, you're not some people." 

* 

Joe brings Kat one night they're all scheduled to meet up, David showing up late, oblivious, a 16-hour day behind him, a 12-hour day in front. 

Kat's charming and funny and sweet, everything Joe should, could, and does need. Her voice is light, her hands expressive, and she blushes prettily at Torri's bawdy jokes, charms Paulie with questions about his family. She promises Rachel she'll join her for hashram yoga that Saturday, "bright and early," and pats David's hand affectionately when he explains Jane is out of town, visiting friends, and that he's "on my own for the weekend." 

"You should come to dinner at ours," she says, Joe's arm around her shoulders as he argues with Martin about how to gut a fish. "We wouldn't want you to be lonely." 

Torri's fingernails catch against his jeans-clad leg and David only hesitates for a brief moment, long enough to take a breath of air, short enough to not appear ungrateful. "That's quite kind of you, thank you, I'll be sure to keep that in mind." 

* 

Joe calls David in the morning, the rustle of newspaper in the background, running water and clink of cutlery as he eats his breakfast. David feels like he's being courted, but he's not entirely sure -- can't remember the last time someone chased him, the last time someone romanced him. 

"How much you think the byline illustrators make?" Joe asks one morning, shaking his Wall Street Journal loud enough for David to hear over the phone line. 

"You really ought to move some money into bonds," Joe lectures another morning, the names of the companies to watch tripping off his tongue. 

"The papergirl threw the paper into the rhododendron bush this morning, bees everywhere," happens another morning, the phone pressed up against David's ear as he watches coffee drip into the pot. "Do you think she's trying to tell me something?" 

"I have no idea," David says, the words loud in his empty kitchen. It startles them both into silence, spurs a pair of hushed goodbyes. 

* 

One morning David doesn't latch the filter basket on quite tight enough and there's an eruption of hot, fragrant liquid all over the counter, the dog quite interested and barking. David rings off hurriedly, spends the rest of the day feeling guilty about it when Joe doesn't seek him out at lunch. 

"You know we're going to see each other in an hour or so," he says the next morning, Joe's breath in his ear. "Some people would think that this is," David pauses, gulps down some juice. "I don't know, weird." 

There's a pause. 

"Do you want me to stop?" Joe is quiet, the newspaper is quiet, the coffee pot is quiet. Hell, the dog is quiet. 

"No," David replies, eyes on the milk dissolving into his coffee, not really sure what he's agreeing to. "Some people don't know what they're missing." 

FIN


End file.
